Letters from Home
by imdeadsothere
Summary: Ten years ago Harry left England and the wizarding world, planning to never return. But when news of Ron being sick reaches him, even Harry finds himself on a train bound homeward. SLASH. ONE-SHOT.


Harry let out a loud yelp when a large owl flew through the window. He started swatting at it with a dish towel before he realized there was a letter attached to its leg. Now there was something he hadn't seen in awhile, almost ten years to be honest. He eyed the owl suspiciously, a look which the owl returned, thought considering that Harry had been whacking it with a dish towel only a few moments before, he supposed the owl was fully in his right to eye him suspiciously.

"And how did _you_ find me?" Harry mused.

The owl just hooted and held out its leg. Cautiously Harry took the letter, holding it gently in his hands he studied it. The handwriting didn't look familiar, though it could just be that it had been so long that he didn't remember anybody's handwriting anyway.

Harry noticed that the owl was still there.

"Well shoo!" Harry said. The owl didn't budge. Harry reached for his dish towel and with a loud squawk the bird took off back through the window which Harry quickly shut behind him.

With the owl problem taken care of Harry turned his attention back to the letter. He had a feeling he knew who it was from. Harry sighed, he tossed the letter aside, figuring he'd deal with it later and instead continued his task of making, eating, and then cleaning up breakfast.

Around eleven a bunch of his friends stopped by, at one they left. Harry still hadn't read the letter. Too bad it was Sunday, if it were a weekday he could've at least gone to work and ignored the letter there.

At three Bernadette stopped by, walking in uninvited like she usually did.

"You again?" Harry jokingly called as she sashayed into the room.

"Of course!" she replied, "and you know you are so happy to see me!"

"What makes you say that?"

"Because you are always so happy to see me," she replied.

"So why are you _really_ here?" Harry asked, moving into the kitchen to get Bernadette a glass of water.

"Well, Inès ditched me to run off with François, and Martine won't pick up the phone, Geneviève is still mad at me, and Amélie is still vacationing in Finland, so I came here."

"Amélie is _still_ in Finland?"

"Yes, I think she met a boy," Bernadette said, "probably a pimp." Harry chuckled, passing her a glass of water.

"Well in that case she'll be home real soon bawling about how the love of her life left her because he only wanted her for her body."

"Well, if she goes around shaking her boobs in men's faces the only ones she's going to get are going to be the ones that only want her for her boobs. I'm giving her two days."

"Two days? You're mean."

"And how many would you give her?"

"I, because I'm so nice, would give her _three_."

"Oh so nice," Bernadette said sarcastically.

"Saint-like," Harry replied.

Bernadette spotted the letter on the table and picked it up.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Letter," Harry replied.

"And you stull haven't opened it?"

Harry shrugged, "it only just arrived today."

"Today?"

"Yeah."

"It's Sunday."

"So?"

"So, no post on Sunday," Bernadette reminded, "can I open it?"

"Sure," Harry said, "it's probably nothing important."

Bernadette broke the seal and unfolded the letter. She stared at it for a minute before tossing it aside.

"It's in English," she said, sounding annoyed.

"But you know English," Harry said.

"Not very well," Bernadette argued.

"Then it's perfect practice."

"Oh fine," she said, grabbing the letter, "I'll try."

"Read it aloud," Harry said. Bernadette shot him a glare. The only thing she hated more than reading English was speaking it. But she opened her mouth and began anyway.

"Dear Harry," she read, "I know when you trusted me with your location I was never supposed to contact you, and for ten years I didn't so I hope you can forgive this one time. The thing is, Ron's sick, really sick. The healers," Bernadette paused, "healers?" she asked.

"It's a local slang for doctor," Harry lied.

Bernadette nodded, accepting his explanation she continued on, "are trying everything, but they don't know what's wrong, or what they can do to fix it. Mrs. Weasley has gone out of her mind with worry and hasn't slept in days. I'm sorry to contact you with such bad news but I thought you needed to know. I don't think Ron's going to make it much longer, it's almost as if he's lost the will to live. He's always quiet, rarely speaks, hardly eats, mostly he sleeps. I know it's foolish, but I keep thinking that maybe if he sees you he might at least try to get better. He still misses you, a lot. I do too, we all do. I thought, maybe you could come visit, just for one day. You could wear your cloak and nobody except for Ron and me will ever know you came. Please Harry, Ron needs to see you again, at least once more. _I_ need to see you again. Please Harry, at least think about it. Loving you always, Hermione."

Silence reigned.

"Who's Hermione?" Bernadette asked.

"And old friend," Harry replied.

"From your past that you're so mysterious about?"

"That's the one."

"And Ron?"

"Same."

"And Mrs. Weasley?"

"Ron's mom."

"So why _did_ you leave them?"

"I just… I needed to get away."

"From them?"

"From everything they represented."

"Care to explain?"

"No."

"Well, are you going to visit them?"

Harry shrugged, "I don't know."

"It sounds like Ron's pretty sick."

"Yeah."

"Sounds like he misses you."

"Yeah."

"Do you miss him?"

"Yeah."

"How much?"

"He was the first person I ever loved."

"Do you still?"

"Always."

"Well then you _have_ to visit him!"

Harry studied his hands.

"Come," Bernadette said, grabbing his hands and pulling him to his room. She grabbed one of his satchels and began tossing his clothes into it.

"So where are you going?" she asked, grabbing a pair of jeans, "England, right? I'll drive you to the train station."

Harry leaned against the doorway, letting out a large sigh.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know Bernadette, it's been so long I just… I feel like I'm not welcome, like I don't belong there anymore."

"Well clearly Ron and Hermione welcome you," she replied, "come, I'll go with you if you're scared."

"I don't think that would be a good idea," Harry said.

"Then I won't go, but you're definitely going. Here." She tossed him his now stuffed satchel, "get in the car."

"Just, hold on a minute," Harry said, he ran into his closet, pulling out one of the many boxes that covered the floor. It was a long thin one he usually tried to pretend wasn't there. He shoved it in the satchel and came back out where Bernadette waited impatiently.

"Come, come, get in the car," she said, "I called my friend Frédérique who lives in Bayonne and she says that she's going to the train station and will buy your ticket for you so that you're ready as soon as you arrive."

Bernadette quickly hurried Harry into her car, where she then got behind the wheel and proved every stereotype about crazy French drivers. The nearest international train station was in Bayonne, about an hour drive from where they were in the small town of Ossès. Normally they would just drive down to Saint-Jean, but Bernadette insisted that driving straight to Bayonne would be faster. She made it in forty minutes.

Harry had been to the Bayonne train station before, but he didn't get to see it much as Bernadette quickly rushed him through, scanning the crowd.

"Bernadette!" a voice called. Harry turned, a short woman was waving her arms wildly, Bernadette steered them in her direction. The two women quickly exchange pleasantries before Bernadette quickly introduced Harry and Frédérique to each other, and then they were off.

"I bought the tickets," Frédérique said as they headed for the station, "there are three tickets, this one takes you from here to Paris, it's overnight so I hope you're ready," she handed the ticket to Harry, "from there you take this one," she gave Harry another ticket, "which goes to Calais. From there you must get your own ticket for a ferry because they do not sell them here, take the ferry to Ashford, and from there you use this ticket," she handed him the last ticket, "which gets you all the way to London. After that it's up to you."

"Thank you," Harry said, taking the tickets, "how much do I owe you?"

Frédérique waved him off, "do not worry about it, you can pay me back when you get back, Bernadette told me it was a matter of love and I just _love_ romantic stories," she said.

"We're here!" Bernadette said, once they had arrived at the platform, the train was already there, Harry quickly checked his time realizing he only had a few minutes.

"Okay, I should probably board," he said, he quickly gave the two girls each two kisses on the cheeks and several thank yous before boarding. Ensuring of course that Bernadette would explain the situation to his boss at work the next morning, tell all his friends where he'd gone and feed his cat.

Once on the train he quickly found his seat and sat down. The cart was half full, and nobody sat close to him. That would probably change the closer they got to Paris. Harry set his bag on the chair next to him before allowing himself to relax. He stayed awake for the first part of the train ride, remembering the first time he'd made this journey only in the opposite direction. But soon sleep overtook him, and he fell asleep somewhere around Poitiers.

He woke up in Paris with an old woman jabbing him in the head.

"Wake up boy!" she said, jabbing him in the head again, "last stop on the train, wake up!" Harry quickly sat up, rapidly thanking the woman for waking him up and apologizing that she had to take time out of her day to do so. The old woman smiled at his politeness, insisted that it was no problem, asked him if he had some spare change, and ambled off.

Grabbing his stuff Harry got off of the train, it was early morning now and he had an hour to kill before his next train left so he grabbed breakfast. He headed straight for the McDonalds. Something about greasy fast food really sounded good to him right then. Once he was munching happily on a hamburger Harry wandered around the station some. Once again, remembering his first time here. He hadn't spoken a word of French then and had wandered off of a train tired, hungry, and completely clueless as to what he was going to do next. His food of choice then? McDonalds. He found it strangely right that the food he chose to eat as he left was the same he chose to eat as he arrived, like somehow the whole circular-ness of it was a sign of good luck or something. Or maybe he was just being silly. His hour in Paris came and went and soon he found himself on a train heading for Calais. This train was much more crowded, and he was quite pleased to find himself sitting across from a young English couple.

Harry struck up a conversation with them, English coming back to him quite easily despite the fact that he hadn't spoken it for a long time. Though the couple did note that he has a slight French accent intruding on his English one, a fact which made Harry chuckle.

"So, heading home then?" the young woman who's name was Emma asked. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, it's been awhile but a close friend of mine is sick," Harry said.

"Well that's too bad," the man, James, said, "I do hope he gets well."

"Me too."

"So how long have you been away?" Emma asked.

"Ten years," Harry replied.

"Wow, so long, and you haven't even visited in that time?" Harry shook his head.

"No, but it's weird though, I haven't passed this way in ten years yet it all looks exactly the same," he said, glancing out the window, "almost as if I just passed through it yesterday." Emma smiled.

"Funny how the road home is always the same," James said, "that's something my mother used to tell me. When I was young, I used to wander off into the woods and she would constantly remind me 'remember James, the road home will always be the same, so don't go thinking it's changed and take the wrong one.'"

"Guess that's it then," Harry said, glancing out the window again. He sighed. The couple returned to their own conversation leaving Harry to his thoughts. But before he knew it he found himself standing by the port in Calais. A ticket to Ashford in one hand, his bag in the other, with the ferry home in front of him.

And Harry just stood there and stared. This was it. If he took one more step there'd be no going back. It could be that he'd just been dramatizing, but it didn't feel like that. England. He was going back to England. Ten years and he was going back, not really sure if he wanted to. He nearly crumpled up the ticket and headed back for the train station, but then he thought of Ron. Ron with his bright red hair and goofy smile and brilliant hugs, none of which he'd seen or felt in ten years. It was true what Harry had told Bernadette, Ron had been the first person he'd ever loved, and not just as a friend. And now Ron was sick and probably wouldn't make it and Harry realized that it wasn't just Ron that wanted to see him, it was Harry that needed to see Ron. At least once more. And with Ron's face in mind Harry boarded the ferry.

And the Englishman on the train was right, the road home does always look the same. There may be different trees, some bigger, some new ones, different buildings, different people, but in the end it was always the same, and before he knew it London loomed up before him. Entirely different yet somehow still the same.

He stepped off the train slowly, breathing in the air. Standing in Kings Cross station itself all the memories flooded through him and he wondered why he ever left. But with those good memories came bad ones, reminding him exactly why he left. Harry took his bags to the nearest payphone. He pulled out the thin box he'd grabbed from his closet. Mostly it contained his wand, but there was also some pounds, and a few small scraps of paper containing different things, addresses, phone numbers, Harry found the one with Hermione's phone number and hoping desperately that it hadn't changed in ten years he dialed it in.

She answered on the second ring.

"Hello?" Hermione's tired voice said on the other end.

"Hello? Hermione?" Harry croaked, his voice sore, "I'm home."

~.oOo.,.oOo.,.oOo.~

Hermione sat in a large chair a book in hand as she kept careful vigil on Ron. He was sleeping again. Hermione sighed and put her book down, glancing out the window. The owl she'd sent to Harry a few days ago had returned with no reply. But at least he'd taken the letter. She wasn't sure if it was a good sign or a bad sign. She really did hope he came, something told her that what Ron really needed right now was not another healer or more pills but Harry. She sighed again, as she'd been doing quite often, and opened her book up.

Ron coughed and Hermione looked up rapidly. Ron's eyes were open and he was turned to face her.

"Hello Ron, how are you feeling?" Hermione asked. Ron just shook his head. Hermione bit her lip. She hadn't told anyone she'd sent a letter to Harry, of course she hadn't told them that she knew where he was either, he'd made her promise not to. He'd only entrusted her with the information because he knew she would understand, and that she wouldn't blab, and just in case something dire happened. When Harry had first left Hermione had figured it might just be a year, maybe two. But ten had already past, and they were all already into their late twenties, and still Harry hadn't come back. Should she tell Ron about the letter she'd sent? Maybe it might give him some hope…

"So, um, I sent a letter to Harry," Hermione said. Ron just stared.

"I just thought I might ask him to come back, to see you since you're not doing so well," she said.

"He won't come," Ron grumbled, speaking the first words he'd spoken in days.

"He might," Hermione insisted. Ron shook his head.

"He's had ten years to come back and he still hasn't, he won't come."

"Well I'm still hopeful."

"Then go ahead and be hopeful, just don't expect me to do it with you." Hermione was silent.

"Do you still miss him?" she asked.

"With everything I have, yes," Ron replied, "but it's not me it's him that matters. And he doesn't miss us."

"You don't know that for sure, Harry had some stuff to deal with," Hermione said.

"Then why didn't he let me deal with it with him?"

"You know Harry, he always thinks he needs to do everything alone." Ron scoffed.

"Just as selfish as always."

"Ron, please don't say that, you know Harry never meant to hurt anyone."

"Well he did," Ron replied harshly, though Hermione could tell it was just a façade, Harry's having left had hurt Ron more than she, or anyone else, could've guessed.

"Ron, please, don't hide behind harsh words and anger anymore," Hermione said, reaching forward and gently patting Ron's shoulder. Ron turned to look at her, he looked even sicker when he was sad, he looked almost skeleton like.

"The thing is, Hermione," Ron said quietly, "I'm tired of living in a world that he's not in." Ron turned his head away, but Hermione still saw the small tear that escaped his eye. She sighed, pulling her hand back. Ron needed Harry. She could see that. Maybe her theory about Harry coming and having everything be okay wasn't so far off. He really had just lost the will to live.

"He's going to come Ron," Hermione assured, "I just know it."

"I hope so," Ron whispered quietly. Hermione sighed again. Why did everything have to be so complicated. Couldn't those two just see how much they loved each other and not in that just friends way and just _be_ together? Well, at least she thought Harry liked Ron. Having not seen him in ten years she couldn't be entirely sure but she had a pretty strong hunch that things hadn't changed that much. At least not that aspect of things. Her mobile rang.

Hermione groaned, she'd forgotten that she'd left it on. She stood up and left the room so as not to disturb Ron, it was probably just her mother anyway.

"Hello?" Hermione said, answering the phone.

"Hello? Hermione?" a voice that she hadn't heard in years spoke on the other end, uttering the two words she's been longing to hear since the day he left, "I'm home."

~.oOo.,.oOo.,.oOo.~

Hermione had never driven so fast in her life, she wouldn't be surprised if all the other drivers thought she was French. It was a long drive from Ottery St. Catchpole to London, though Hermione cut at least an hour off the time and made it there in three. Pulling into the parking lot of Kings Cross Station in around two in the afternoon. She ran into the station before stopping suddenly, realizing that they hadn't decided where to meet.

"Oh of course!" Hermione said suddenly, talking to herself, "where else could he be?" and she hurried to the only place she could think of finding Harry. And there he was, leaning against a post between platforms nine and ten.

"Harry!" Hermione called, rushing forward and pulling him into a hug before he even had a chance to register her presence. But to her delight Harry hugged back.

"Hey Hermione," Harry said quietly. Hermione pulled back, holding Harry at arm's length and studying him carefully. He'd changed quite a bit, he wasn't as scrawny, and seemed to have finally filled out his frame. And, she had to admit, had become quite handsome in the ten years since she'd last seen him.

"I can't believe you came!" Hermione gushed.

"Yeah, I can't either, actually," Harry replied.

"Your voice has changed," she noted.

"Yeah, an English couple on the train said I sounded French."

"You do a bit, actually."

"The drive wasn't too much of a hassle, was it?" Harry asked.

"Oh heavens no, the drive was fine, I would've apparated but I know you're still not doing magic, are you?" Harry shook his head.

"No," he replied.

"Well, it's okay, magic or not, at least you're here!" she squealed. Harry smiled.

"So, how's Ron?" he asked, and the two headed to the car.

"He could be better," Hermione said, "of course he could always be worse so at least we have that to be thankful for."

"Yeah." They walked in an awkward silence, neither quite sure what to talk about, it had been so long. They arrived at the car and climbed in. Neither one saying a word until they were well out of London.

"So… met anyone?"

"Like who?"

"Oh, I don't know, any romantic partners?"

"I've had a few boyfriends," Harry said, "but nothing really quite worked."

"Boyfriends?" Hermione raised her eyebrows. She wasn't surprised of course, but she's always been a little unsure.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot, I never told you guys before I left."

"Oh it's fine," Hermione said, "I've always had a hunch anyway." Harry smiled.

"And how about you?"

"Oh, same as you I suppose, a few boyfriends here and there, nothing really substantial. And what about friends? Do you have lots of friends?"

"Yeah, I've got a few," Harry said.

"Girls or guys?"

"Mostly girls, but there are a few guys."

"Oh, and, do you work?"

"Yeah, nothing much, I work at a coffee shop and bookstore to be honest."

"Well that's not so bad, speak lots of French?"

"Of course."

"So, why France?"

Harry shrugged, "why anywhere? I guess that's just sort of where I landed." They drove the rest of the way in silence. Hermione driving at an almost acceptable speed this time, it took them much longer to get back, it was nearly six when she finally pulled up to the burrow.

"Wow," Harry said, staring up at it, "hasn't changed a bit."

"Ready to face them?" Hermione asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Harry replied. Climbing out of the car. Hermione went ahead of him, letting him in.

"Hello?" she called.

"Hello Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen, "back? Where'd you go? I was starting to worry and I wasn't sure if I should set you a place for dinner."

"Oh, I just had to go pick someone up," Hermione said.

"Really? Who? And where on earth could you be picking anyone up that took that long? London?"

"Yes actually," Hermione replied, walking into the kitchen, Harry coming in behind her. Mrs. Weasley had her back turned to them as she busily watched over something on the stove.

"Who were you picking up in London?" she asked, turning around. She dropped her wand, but didn't bother to pick it up.

"H-Harry?" she asked, wondering if he was really there or if she really had gone insane.

"Hello Mrs. Weasley," Harry said.

"Oh Harry!" she cried, rushing forward and enveloping him in a hug, "how have you been? Where have you been? For once you don't look so skinny! How do you feel? Are you hungry? Are you tired?" she instantly began mothering him.

"I'm fine, really," Harry insisted.

"Oh, I can't believe you're back!" she cried, hugging him again.

"Yeah, neither can I," Harry said.

"Mrs. Weasley," Hermione interrupted, "do you think you can let go of him for a moment so that we can go up and visit Ron?'

"Oh of course!" Mrs. Weasley said, letting go of Harry, "I should warn you though," she said to Harry, "he's really not doing well."

"So I've heard," Harry said. Hermione took Harry's arm and steered him up the stairs. Ron was in a room on the second floor now, at the end of the hallway. She knocked gently before coming in.

"Ron?" she called.

"Yeah?" Ron replied, oh good, he was awake.

"Someone's here to see you."

"Who?"

Harry stepped into the room, "hey Ron." Ron's eyes bugged out.

"Harry?" he asked, "Harry is that you? You came back?"

"Yeah, Hermione said you were sick, I came back to see you." Ron's face fell.

"So it took me on my deathbed to get you to come back," Ron grumbled. Harry seemed unfazed by Ron's change in demeanor. Instead he moved forward, sitting down in the chair Hermione usually frequented he took Ron's hand in his own.

"I waited for you, you know," Ron grumbled.

"I'm sorry you had to wait so long."

"I'm sorry I ever bothered to wait," Ron grumbled.

"In that case, I'm sorry I ever came back," Harry rose to leave but Ron's hand flew out, clasping onto Harry's.

"Wait! No, please don't go! I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I didn't mean it just please don't go!" Harry sat back down.

"Why'd you go?" Ron asked quietly.

"I had to, I just needed to get away."

"From me?"

Harry shook his head, "never from you Ron, from magic."

"Why?"

"Because I'd seen all the bad it could do in the world and I just couldn't bear to exist in the same world as it anymore."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

"Couldn't you have taken me with you?"

"Would you have even wanted to come with me? To live surrounded by muggles, cut off from all magic?"

"If it meant being with you, yes," Ron replied resolutely.

"Haven't you moved on yet?" Harry asked quietly.

"Have you?"

Harry was quiet for the longest time.

"No."

"Then why should I?"

"Because… because I don't like knowing you're in pain because of me."

"Then fix it," Ron replied, "don't leave."

"I won't leave," Harry said, "if you get better."

"How can I?" Ron grumbled, "nobody knows what's wrong with me." Harry smiled, he leaned down and kissed Ron on the forehead.

"Guess you'll just have to work a little harder," he replied. And for the first time in what felt like forever Ron smiled. Harry stroked his hair.

"Now, go to sleep, you need your rest so you can get better," Harry said, gently stroking Ron's hair.

"Promise you won't leave as soon as I fall asleep?" Ron asked.

"Cross my heart," Harry replied.

"Good. Just one last thing," Ron said, pushing himself up to a sitting position. Harry eyed him curiously.

"What?"

"This," Ron said, he reached out, taking a hold of Harry's head he pulled him closer and kissed him softly on the lips before pulling away.

"Don't you dare ever leave me again," Ron said.

"Never," Harry replied, and kissed him again.

~.oOo.,.oOo.,.oOo.~

Harry was cleaning the kitchen again.

"Have you noticed that you clean the kitchen daily?" Ron pointed out, taking the dishes out of the dishwasher.

"Well sorry if I like having a clean house," Harry replied.

"I think you've got more of your aunt in you than you think," Ron said.

"Oh, please don't say that," Harry said.

"Well it's true," Ron said poking him.

"Just finish putting the dishes away," Harry said, "and no magic."

"I know, I know," Ron replied, "but seriously, how can you stand this?" he asked, putting another plate away.

"I like it," Harry said, "it's… relaxing."

"You have a weird way of relaxing," Ron noted.

"To each his own," Harry replied, "and don't forget that Bernadette is coming over today. And maybe Inès and her fiancée François might stop by.

"When's Amélie going to come back from Germany?" Ron asked, "I like her."

"Well, according to Geneviève she's met a boy."

"So soon then?"

"I'd give her two days," Harry said.

"Well I'd give her three," Ron replied.

"Oh you're just so nice," Harry said sarcastically.

"Saint-like," Ron replied.

"'Ello boys!" Bernadette's voice floated through the house.

"And she's here," Ron said, putting away the last dish.

"'Ello Ron!" Bernadette said, giving Ron two kisses on the cheek before turning to Harry and greeting him in French.

"So, ven are you going to learn French?" Bernadette asked Ron.

"I'm trying, I'm trying," Ron said.

"Not hard enough," Bernadette replied, "tell me, what can you say?"

"Um… je t'aime?" Bernadette sighed.

"Well, it's a start."

"I think it's a fine start," Harry said, leaning into Ron. Ron wrapped his arms around Harry.

"I agree with him."

Bernadette rolled her eyes, "boys!" she said exasperatedly. Harry and Ron just smiled, Ron leaned down and gave Harry a peck on the lips, whispering quietly to him "je t'aime."

Harry just smiled, quietly whispering back, "Moi aussi, je t'aime."

AN: Meh, this isn't one of my favorites… but whatever. Anyway, one of my reviewers (you know who you are) will be pleased to know I actually proofread this. Of course there's probably still mistakes but less than there were before, so yay! And for those of you who weren't quite sure, the whole beginning of the story, just imagine they're all speaking French, k? They're supposed to be except that I don't speak French and if I had written it in French you guys probably wouldn't understand it anyway. Unless you spoke French, which would be way cool. But that's beside the point. Hope you enjoy my story anyway, even though I think it's kind of crappy, so if you don't enjoy it I swear I won't be offended, I'll probably agree with you.

Anyway... I have a much better idea with a similar concept but I decided to post this one anyway, at least until I get the other one written.


End file.
